Angels helped with shopping (12/08/2008)

The angels were out in droves last weekend. I took my mother Christmas shopping. We took her wheelchair with us. I got my angel of a brother, Michael, to load the chair into the car before he left with his girlfriend.

We stopped at a gas station and to my delight, it took less than $20.00 worth of fuel to completely fill the tank. An angel must have lowered the price for me, as I can't remember the last time that happened.

Then we went to eat lunch. Another angel held the door open for us as I crashed into the doorframe with the wheelchair. The waitress was another angel, as she didn't talk down to my mother as people frequently do.

Someone held the bathroom door open after lunch as we awkwardly maneuvered into the small space. I barely missed running over another angel's toes on the way out.

We stopped at our favorite craft store where I obligingly picked out my own Christmas present. It was almost impossible for me to resist opening the package. We loaded up our basket and headed out to the car.

The wrong car. Right color; somebody else's car. No wonder the keys wouldn't work.

Our vehicle was parked several aisles over. Oops.

We made two more stops. Did you know that wheelchairs gain weight every time they are removed from a car trunk? Well, they do. Plus if they aren't removed correctly they tend to pinch fingers between the wheels and the frame. I think they do it on purpose in retaliation for being taken out into the cold.

Our last stop was a big box store. Instead of taking the store wheelchair we took Mom's. There was only one problem. We don't have a basket on hers. We compromised by having her push a grocery cart while I pushed the chair.

We looked like overgrown kids playing choo-choo trains. She can't hear well so every time I wanted her to turn I had to tap her on the shoulder and point. Just try going down a crowded toy aisle like that. It was an adventure. Plus she puts on the brakes when she wants me to stop and I almost fly over the top of her into her lap or ram the handles of the chair into my belly.

Then she decided she needed a few groceries. Of course, they were clear on the other end of the building. When I told her that she pointed her cart directly at a store display while I was pushing her forward. The only way we didn't knock it over was by the grace of God or maybe more guardian angels.

We made it home safely and I was trimming her toenails when Michael and his girlfriend dropped by. My other angel brother, David, arrived soon after with his son, Jadyn, in tow. It was only yesterday that Jadyn was a little boy. Now he is taller than I am. Plus his hair has gone from pale strawberry blonde to "oops, I combed my hair with a weed-wacker red."

I told them about trying to mow down the store displays and all the angel toes I tried to smash. They responded with similar stories of when they had taken our mother shopping.

We laughed and visited far too long. My last angel of the day watched over me on the way home. I have reached the age where I don't see as well as I would like to after dark.

It is clear to me that there are far more good-hearted people than ever. We can find them everywhere, if we only look. Angels hold doors and don't comment when we crash our mothers into the doorframes. They take the form of sons and daughters automatically offering a hand to frail parents. They are in the eyes of all the shivering volunteers manning the Salvation Army kettles or collecting donations for one good cause or another.

Angels are the women singing Christmas carols softly to themselves as they trudge through the grocery store. They are all the portly men with beards who endure the Santa Claus comments this time of year. They are retired men who offer rides to tired newspaper carriers. They are all the people who take time to slow down to walk with a child or elderly person without showing impatience.

Angels are you and me on a good day.[[In-content Ad]]